


Focus

by viciousmollymaukery



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Kissing, Morning After, Post-Coital Cuddling, mentions of nudity, no explicit sexytimes but it's referenced, non-canon compliant, somehow soft and angsty at the same time, yet another mirror fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmollymaukery/pseuds/viciousmollymaukery
Summary: Focus (noun)1. a central point, as of attraction, attention, or activity2. a point, as on a mirror, at which light, heat, or other radiation meet after being reflected or refracted
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 26
Kudos: 232





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I'm a physics student studying light, and this idea gripped me and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Beau doesn’t know enough about how magic fucking works to figure out whether time is passing the same way in the tower, but given her current situation of dozing peacefully beside a mostly nude, sleeping barbarian woman, she’s not particularly inclined to care. There’s the crackling from her fireplace and the occasional thumping from the cats in the wall—at least, that’s what she _hopes_ the sound is, cuz she’d seen Fjord follow into Jester’s room and if the walls really _are_ that thin, she’s going to be super embarrassed when everyone wakes up—but the most enticing sound to her is that of Yasha’s surprisingly gentle snoring, which is apparently a contrast to her own, she’s been told.

The aasimar in question stirs a bit beside her, and her eyes flutter open. Yasha blinks for a few moments before looking around, visibly relaxing a bit when she sees Beau, which pulls at something in Beau’s chest that she’s honestly a bit too scared to really identify right now.

“Hi there,” Beau says softly, and cringes at herself instantly. Seriously? The morning (was it morning?) after some of the best sex of her life with someone she’d been pining after for _months_ , and all she could come up with was ‘hi there’?

But thankfully Yasha smiles, apparently enamored by Beau’s awkwardness. “Yeah, hi there,” she laughs quietly. She pulls herself up so they’re a bit closer, tentatively slipping one arm around Beau’s still bare waist. Beau leans into the gesture, sliding over to Yasha as her heart starts to pound. Almost none of her escapades had involved any interaction after the fact, and those that had were usually just negotiations for round two—or three, or four, depending on the previous night.

Beau carefully slides her fingers through Yasha’s hair once she’s rolled over onto her side, trying to make the motion seem suave and cool and probably failing miserably. But here, with Yasha, there isn’t the same pressure to be collected and aloof all the time, especially not about this. That’s equal parts reassuring and frightening, so either way she wants more of it.

She clears her throat. “Did you, uh, sleep well enough?” That's the polite thing to ask first, right? Shit, she’s _really_ bad at this.

“I did,” Yasha murmurs mostly into her pillow, her eyes drifting shut again as she leans into Beau’s caress. The hand at Beau’s waist lifts slightly as she points a finger upwards. “I told you that would be useful.”

Beau laughs a bit as she looks up at the newly designated Fuck Mirror, her face turning bright and hot as she remembers just how much enjoyment both of them had gotten out of it a few hours ago, and just how unexpectedly potent it had been. She makes a mental note to repay Caleb somehow, maybe with some better quality paper since he was so fucking distressed about the stuff in the tower.

“Yeah,” she sighs, staring up at their _incredibly_ sexy reflection. Yasha’s legs are sticking out of Beau’s tangled bedsheet from the knee down, and the edge of it is dangerously low over her own chest. “Yeah, it definitely was.”

Yasha’s hand moves then under the covers, turning to trail over her stomach and hopefully further downward before stopping suddenly just below her navel. She frowns and pulls back slightly, keeping her hand in the same position.

Beau’s heart leaps back up into her throat. “Wh—is something wrong?” If Yasha wants to stop, she’s certainly not going to press her to keep going, but she’d rather have the information for next time, provided there would even _be_ a next time at all. She really, _really_ hopes there will be.

“I—” Yasha lifts the sheet up, her expression going from puzzled to relieved as she looks down at where her hand is even as Beau’s breath catches under her gaze. “Oh. Sorry, just—the T Rex scars, I forgot.”

“Oh.” Beau looks down to where the serrated markings practically bisect her torso, still an angry colour and healing from their time on Rumblecusp. “Yeah. Those are, uh, pretty new. Been taking some getting used to, actually.”

They both have their fair share of scars, but they’d been a bit too preoccupied a bit too quickly last night to really put much thought into them. At least, Beau certainly had been, and for the sake of her ego she really hopes Yasha had been as well.

“Do they hurt?” Yasha asks, raising her hand so her fingertips are barely brushing Beau’s skin.

“Nah,” Beau breathes, her abs twitching at the unfamiliar sensation, “not really. Actually pretty numb, to be honest.”

“Hm.” Yasha runs her fingers over the ring of scars, tracing each one and driving Beau absolutely _mad_. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

Yasha responds by gently taking Beau’s hand and laying it against her shoulder. “This one is, uh, from a while ago. Before I met you all, actually. In my tribe, we did training sometimes, and I got hit by a stray arrow. I never really regained all the sensation back.”

Beau carefully examines the skin between her fingers, finding an arrow mark the size of a platinum piece partly under her thumb. It’s a shade or two paler than Yasha’s already pale skin, the texture smooth and soft.

“Damn,” Beau exhales. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Yasha laughs, louder than Beau would have expected but in a way that still grips at her chest. “No, it really wasn’t.”

Making a split second decision to keep it going, Beau grabs Yasha’s wrist and pulls it towards her hip. “The hydra, when we were in that fucking snake temple,” she says, indicating the scar she swears up and down is shaped like one of the Uk’otoa eyes that had haunted them that entire goddamn time. “Those fucking heads come out of nowhere if you’re not careful.”

Yasha smiles a bit at that, but the expression is more wistful as she squeezes carefully. Beau realizes that at some point the touch has become less arousing and more… anchoring. It reminds her of how she’d felt the handful of times she’d successfully meditated, grounded and completely present and at peace. It's not something she'd really expected to feel, but it's also not unwelcome.

For Yasha’s turn, she guides Beau’s hand towards her chest, bringing it to a stop over her sternum. Beau sees a similar, circular mark there, smaller and more uniform than the scar from the arrowhead. “This is from Nott.”

It takes Beau a second to put it together, but she smiles wryly and looks up at Yasha through her lashes when she does. “The fight at the Overcrow?”

Yasha smiles back down at her, though the humor at the memory is still laced with a haunting bitterness for both of them given the later fallout from that battle. “Yeah. Those bolts of hers can scrape bone. It still stings if I breathe too heavy.”

“Ouch.” Beau says, and makes another decision. She takes a deep breath to steel herself and turns over onto her stomach. Lacing her fingers with Yasha’s, she guides their hands to the small of her back, using the angle she has to look up at the mirror for guidance.

Yasha frowns, raising one eyebrow as she props herself up on her elbow, the sheet completely falling away from her now and exposing her fucking _perfect_ chest to the flickering firelight in the room. “I don’t remember this one,” she breathes as her fingers trace a wide circle around the jagged scar in question.

Beau’s mouth is dry. The contrast between Yasha’s skin and hers is both alluring and fascinating as she stares at it in the mirror, so she thinks about that rather than the story she’s about to tell as she forces herself to continue. “I, uh… well, when—when I said my dad kicked me out, it was kinda literal. I slipped down our steps and landed on a stupid rock. Monks patched me up, but I’ve had this little souvenir ever since.”

Yasha’s face goes completely blank, almost coldly so. Beau has seen the expression in battle so many times and therefore recognizes it as _rage._ She knows that it’s not directed at her, it’s directed at a man miles and miles away from this weird little plane in a miserable, glamorous house in Kamordah. It’s still intimidating to watch, but not so much that she’s actually freaked out by it. It’s actually kind of comforting in a weird, maybe-kinda-fucked-up way.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, running her hand slowly up Beau’s spine and back down again. Beau can feel Yasha’s healing magic start to work as warmth pours from her skin, and even though she doesn’t need any patching up right now, it still makes something inside her ache a little less. “That sounds terrible.”

Beau snorts. “It’s not _your_ fault, Yasha,” she says, hoping her voice isn’t actually as shaky as it sounds in her own ears.

“Well still, I mean… you didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

There’s a lump in her throat that she can’t quite swallow, but she manages to say, “Yeah.”

Yasha lays down next to her, and Beau rolls back onto her side to face her as the barbarian stares up at the mirror for a moment. Then, without really looking at Beau, she takes her hand with one of her own and guides it towards her other wrist. Beau is confused for a moment before she feels the thick, looped scarring around the joint, raised against the rest of the skin.

“When, um…” It’s Yasha’s turn to take a deep breath. She clears her throat before continuing, still not quite making eye contact or looking in Beau’s direction. “When we were with the Iron Shepherds, they kept us in chains the entire time. At least, they made sure to do that with me. In hindsight it's almost flattering, I guess? But, uh, these never really faded away.”

Beau feels that same urge of protective rage she’d just seen on Yasha’s face rise in her, and her free fist clenches into a tight ball. Those days that the three of them were kidnapped, and then losing Molly to boot, had been some of the worst of her life, which was saying quite a fucking lot. Yasha was right; some scars never really faded away.

She scoots closer impulsively, laying her head on Yasha’s shoulder and practically draping herself over her torso. The skin-on-skin contact is soothing, their shared breathing sending a relaxing hum through Beau’s body as she looks up at the mirror before she speaks again, her mind narrowing to every single point of contact between the scars that cover their bodies.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Maybe that’s a hypocritical thing to say after she’d just said Yasha didn’t need to apologize to her, but it’s true. She props herself up on one elbow to get a better look at Yasha’s actual, non-reflection face. “Once we figure out whatever the fuck the ‘Eyes of Nine’ are, we can go back north and see if there’s any more of their shit that needs tearing down.”

Yasha chuckles, the sound vibrating into Beau’s stomach with how she’s positioned, and she cups Beau’s cheek with one hand, fingertips grazing her cheekbone. “I’d like that at some point. I just…” Her hand trails down, over Beau’s neck and clavicle before coming to rest almost directly over her heart. She strokes the skin with her thumb with a heavy sigh through her nose, and Beau doesn’t have to look down at herself _or_ up at the mirror to know just which scar she’s touching as images of stained glass and swords bigger than her body come to mind. “I think we should be careful.”

Beau breathes out slowly before raising her hand to lace their fingers together over her chest, squeezing softly. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Yeah, I agree." She smiles mischievously before continuing. "I _can_ actually be careful when I want to be, believe it or not.”

Yasha laughs again at that, the tension broken. “I never would have guessed.”

“Well, I never really want to, so I don’t exactly blame you.”

Yasha smiles and leans in a bit, letting Beau close the gap, which she is all too eager to do. The kiss is soft, less heated than the ones they’d shared earlier, but it makes Beau’s nerves hum with electricity nonetheless. Every cell in her body seems to be concentrating on Yasha, and she never ever _ever_ wants it to stop.

They’re both silent for a while after that, content to stare up at the mirror above them, and it’s a long time before either of them decides to move again.


End file.
